


Famished

by LadyGaGalion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1323421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGaGalion/pseuds/LadyGaGalion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco thought his life couldn’t get any worse. He was wrong. Now Harry Potter’s stuck to his arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Famished

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hungry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/864147) by [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore). 



I didn’t.

I couldn't have.

With Theo?

It’s true I’ve been lonely – and he’s a good friend – but I like dark hair, bright eyes and hard muscles hiding under Quidditch uniforms, and Theo’s got none of that. Besides, last time I became intimate with a housemate I came to regret it.

The facts can’t be denied, however. There’s a warm body next to mine, and my little finger is entwined with another’s.

Bloody hell, what have I done? Why can’t I recall? The last thing I remember is brewing Skele-Gro in Potions class with Potter and Michael Corner, then Dean Thomas running up to our table, stealing my family ring and chucking it into the cauldron, and …

_Oh, fuck._

My eyes fly open and I turn my head.

“Ahhh!”

I sit up and try to escape the bed, jerking the dead weight of Potter’s body along with me. A searing pain shoots through my arm. I look down and see my right arm and Potter’s left grown together from wrist to elbow to form a single abominable limb.

_What the bloody hell—?!_

“Mr. Malfoy!” Madam Pomfrey is running towards us. “Please, calm down!”

 

♥

 

Is Potter ever going to wake up? I’d really prefer it if he didn’t – no doubt he’ll react by yelling and flailing about like a lunatic – but assuming I’m not that lucky, I’d rather just get it over with.

And why is he so bloody warm? Doesn’t Pomfrey realise he’s got a fever? Maybe I should alert her so that she can bring his temperature down and I can stop sweating.

I turn towards him, and my hand hovers over his face as I remember how Mother used to feel my forehead when I wasn’t feeling well. I’m about to think better of it when, on impulse, I touch the tip of my finger to his scar. Potter continues to lie still, his chest rising and falling steadily. I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth as I trace the lightning bolt shape. Sowilo: the rune of victory. How ironic is it that Voldemort would leave such a mark on his enemy?

I lie back down and close my eyes, willing my heart to stop racing. Maybe Potter will just remain unconscious until the effects of the potion wear off.

 

♥

 

"What the—?"

I roll my eyes as Potter ineffectively struggles to get away from me. "Get off me, you git!”

"I'd like nothing better, Potter, but unless I cut off my arm – and believe me, I am considering it – we are, literally, stuck here."

He continues jerking his arm frantically, until he nearly dislocates my shoulder.

"Stop it, you idiot!" I snap. "Can't you see we're attached? Calm down and stop yanking me around."

As I carefully sit up, Potter stares at the skin joining our arms. He wrinkles his nose as if the strange joint limb were a slug, and then starts pulling with burst of motivation.

"Boys! Boys, stop that!” Madam Pomfrey comes running towards us. “You'll injure yourselves! No fighting!"

"I wasn't fighting; it's Potter here who can't grasp simple facts, as usual."

Pomfrey tries to keep Potter calm while she does some tests, now that he’s regained consciousness. She determines he’s fine, apart from some minor memory loss, and runs off to help a first-year who is beginning to vomit into a bowl.

 _Disgusting,_ I think, shutting my eyes against the reality of the situation.

Potter turns to me. "Do you remember what happened? Brewing Skele-Gro, weren't we?"

"Yes, and your delightful pals decided to play a joke on me. Their wit knows no bounds."

"Dean threw something in our potion!” Potter sounds as if he’s unlocked the secrets of the universe. “What was it?"

I tell him it was my ring, and go on to explain my theory about the resulting reactions that led to our forearms being fused together. He’s incredibly slow to grasp basic concepts, so I have to repeat myself using simple language. In the end he somehow manages to blame it on me, because apparently I wind the others up. Bollocks! I’ve done nothing but mind my own business all year – despite all the whispered jokes and thinly-veiled animosity I’m subject to every single damn day.

The argument that ensues ends with Potter punching me in the jaw, but before I can get my wand out Madam Pomfrey reappears.

"What is the meaning of this?" She draws her wand and points it at us. "Do not make me Body-Bind the pair of you. I will if I have to!"

As she continues to reprimand us, Professor McGonagall appears at her side, her look of concern quickly turning into a scowl. "What's this? Fisticuffs? Really, gentlemen. I thought we had all put such animosity behind us this year."

After a short discussion, it’s decided that we are to attend classes, as we’ve no interest in staying in bed together and Madam Pomfrey doesn’t want us disrupting her other patients. Since I have a free study period now, we’re off to Potter’s Charms class.

 

♥

 

“Ah, there you two are!”

My heart jumps at the sight of a beaming Slughorn in the corridor. Beside me, Potter perks up as well. Maybe Slughorn has found a solution.

“Hello, Professor,” we both reply.

"You're quite right, Mr Malfoy, ten points to Slytherin!” says Slughorn. "The onyx in your ring reacted with the Skele-Gro. Onyx lends strength or permanence, and dittany is used for regrowth, usually of skin. Together with the staghorn in the base, it's formed a powerful healing agent... the potion has used your proximity and tried to bond your flesh, as if your two arms were a wound that needed healing.”

My stomach turns.

“The effects of this type of potion only last a couple of days, usually… say three at most,” He goes on, but I can barely focus on what he’s saying. All hope has vanished. If Slughorn is right, this means a possible two nights and a number of trips to the toilets with Potter stuck to my arm.

“Quite fascinating,” Slughorn finishes.

Fascinating isn’t the term I’d use to describe it.

 

♥

 

Our entrance into Flitwick ’s classroom is as grand as I expected. Potter stiffens beside me at the explosion of laughter, applause, and catcalling. For a moment I think he might turn around and walk out, but alas he finds his Gryffindor resolve and moves toward his seat, while Granger helps Flitwick restore order. “ _Have you quit finished?_ ”

My jaw is sore where Potter punched me. I would have hexed his other arm off, if only I’d managed to get my wand out before Pomfrey intervened. And to think I willingly touched the git while he was still unconscious! I shudder at the memory of it as I turn a page of my book.

Weasley and Granger are sitting at the nearest desks, of course, and Granger immediately begins to inform Potter of her efforts to find a cure.

"Crikey, mate, talk about rotten luck,” Weasley interrupts. "Sharing an arm with the Ferret? That's harsh."

I don’t know what I was expecting. Everyone else talks about me as if I were invisible. Why would Potter’s dear friends be any different?

"I can hear you, you know," I hiss. "My ears weren't affected. And it's not exactly a dream come true for me, either."

"They think it'll just wear off in a couple of days," Potter says with a resigned sigh. "I don't think they're planning to do anything in the meantime – you know, in case it just prolongs it, or makes it worse."

"Well, I think it's dreadful,” says Granger. "They can't just leave you like this. What's going to happen at bedtime?"

Bedtime.

My stomach drops at the thought. I really didn’t need to be reminded of that problem now.

"How about you keep your nose out of this?” I tell her, leaning over Potter. “Surely you can see the whole business is troublesome enough for Potter and I, without everyone gossiping and prying into what is clearly a very private affair?"

"Private affair!" Weasley sniggers. All three of us shoot him a glare. Weasley clears his throat and looks down. "Er, sorry. It was just... er, never mind. Sorry."

"OK, Malfoy,” says Granger. “But I'm going to have a good look in these books, anyway. I borrowed _Most Potente Potions_ from the Restricted Section... "  
She spends the rest of the lesson reading under her desk.

 

I almost feel guilty for having snapped at her. She’s the only person, besides Potter, who hasn’t found it necessary to laugh or make negative remarks about me since we arrived in class. If it weren’t for her incessant meddling, maybe she wouldn’t be half-bad.

 

♥

 

“You don’t like pumpkin juice.”

Potter’s unexpected outburst at dinner nearly makes me spit the pumpkin juice back into my glass. I quickly regain my composure and give him a quizzical look.

“I – I just noticed,” Potter says. “You never have pumpkin juice.”

All eyes are on us. Weasley stops chewing. He looks as shocked as I feel. Though perhaps I shouldn't be surprised. I’ve done my fair share of watching Potter in the past. Sometimes I still watch him – out of habit, I suppose.

“I just notice stuff sometimes,” Potter adds defensively.

I put down my glass, careful to keep my hand steady. “I prefer water.” I look from Potter to Granger, who could not have known unless she’s been watching me as obsessively as Potter seems to have been doing. “But thank you, Granger. It was kind of you to help me.”

The rest of dinner passes in silence but for Weasley attempting to speak over a mouthful of potatoes. "Bit awkward, this.” He swallows and waves, with his fork, from Potter to me and back. "This whole business. Very... awkward."

 

♥

 

We Slytherins can be cruel. Despite the false confidence I displayed in front of Potter, I knew I was risking mortification by coming our common room. Regardless, when faced with the decision of continuing to put up with Gryffindors or retreating to more familiar territory, I chose the latter. When we enter through the stone door and I see Blaise holding court in his usual spot, however, I instantly regret it.

Blaise’s eyes light up with wicked delight at the sight of me. "Draco!" His smile is like a gleaming dagger. “And you've brought a friend. How very nice.”

“Evening,” I say. Potter stumbles beside me as I make my way towards the green leather sofas, where the others are gathered. Daphne snickers. Why does Potter have to be so damn clumsy?

"Is he really stuck to your arm, Malfoy?" Milly asks. “You both look totally stupid."

"Yes, thank you for that, Milly. It's not the best look I've ever managed, I agree."

She leans closer and her nose wrinkles in disgust as she looks at our arms. "Yuck. That's completely gross."

 _Just like your face,_ I think.

"Dear me, dear me, this is very unfortunate,” Blaise says, though I suspect he hasn’t experienced greater fortune in months. “What an unpleasant accident."

"Come and sit down, Draco, and bring your guest. You can tell us all about it." Daphne pats the seat beside her but I ignore it, choosing to just lean against the arm of the sofa instead.

"Where's Theo?" I ask

"Theo?" Blaise asks, and I don’t miss that flash of _something_ in his eyes. ”Now, ladies, where would Theo have got to?"

"He wasn't feeling well, remember?” Daphne checks out her fingernails as she speaks. “He's gone to lie down. Hope it's nothing catching."

I stop to consider my options. To take Potter into the dormitory with Blaise watching would be social suicide. Besides, if Theo really isn’t feeling well, then I don’t want to disturb him. I could stay and remain the object of Blaise’s undivided attention, or leave and let them laugh about us behind our backs. But where would we go? I’ve had enough of Gryffindors for one day.

As I’m considering all of this, Potter, who has been hiding behind me, steps up to stand shoulder to shoulder with me.

"Likes to keep close to you, doesn't he?" Blaise says with glee. ”So, are we to have the pleasure of the Saviour's company all night?"

"It'll be an awful squeeze in Draco's little bed, won't it?" Daphne asks.

My hands clench into fists. I have a feeling I know what’s coming.

Blaise winks. “Ah, it surely won't be the first time he's had an overnight visitor in there.” He smirks at me as he leans back, spreading his thighs just a little. I shift under the weight of his gaze as he studies my reaction. "Oh, but this is not for ladies' ears. You don't want to hear what naughty boys get up to at night behind closed doors, do you, Daphne?”

Milly and Daphne whisper to each other and giggle. Blaise and I are, in fact, having an entirely different conversation than everyone else is hearing. Sure, they’re making sense of the words and having a laugh at what sounds like juvenile jokes about my sexual orientation, but they’ve no idea of the message Blaise is trying to convey.

“Draco’s probably wondering if Theo and Potter would be up for a threesome,” Blaise says, raw delight dancing in his eyes. Just then, the door to the common room swings open.

It’s Slughorn.

“Good evening, ladies, gentlemen,” he says. “Just come for a word with poor old Potter and Malfoy, if I may?”

 _Thank Salazar,_ I think, as Potter and I step towards him.

"Only disturb you for a minute, lads,” Slughorn says. "Time with your pals – very important. Need to wind down and have a bit of fun after a hard day's grind, I know. I just want to check how the skin growth is progressing, and talk about... " He waggles his eyebrows, "... your nocturnal arrangements.”

_Oh, no._

I step back involuntarily, already sensing my housemates’ amusement.

“Could we do this somewhere else, Professor?” Potter asks, sensibly in my opinion.

“No need, no need. Don’t want to interrupt your precious leisure time. Just let me examine…” He lifts our joined arms and examines them, mouth open in fascination. “Ah, yes, the healing elements are doing their job beautifully. Astounding.”

I can’t look. Last time I did, I felt sick to my stomach.

Slughorn proceeds to ask if we’re experiencing any discomfort, and all I can do is pray that Potter doesn’t say anything to inspire Blaise and the girls. Besides, our discomfort is beyond anything words can convey.

“… meanwhile, you’ll be pleased to know that we’ve sorted out some private accommodation for you…”

“P-private?” Potter stammers.

“Yes, dear boy, some rooms on the fifth floor where you’ll be quite comfortable,” says Slughorn. “There’s an extra-large bed—“ I screw my eyes shut. “And a separate bathroom, so you’ll be able to shower undisturbed, that sort of thing.”

I hear a snort, followed by a suppressed giggle.

“Thank you, Professor,” Potter says. “Could you show us, now?”

“Now?” Slughorn sounds surprised.

I could hit Potter.

“Yes… we’re… so tired, you see,” the half-wit beside me explains. “Can’t wait to get to bed.”

Sounds of rapture erupt from the direction of the sofas. I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

“You don’t want to stay and enjoy these japes with your housemates, Draco?”

I don’t have an answer to that. As I’ve said, the only acceptable solution at this point would be to disappear — preferably leaving Potter here to fend for himself.

Potter gives some embarrassing, idiotic reply that I try to block out of my consciousness, and off we go. My housemates’ jeering follows us until the heavy door slams shut. The silence is blissful, but then Slughorn starts rambling on about his school days as he leads us to our room on the fifth floor. Potter throws in an enthusiastic comment every now and then, as if he and old Sluggy were the best of friends. I find myself relishing the memory of breaking his nose on the Hogwarts Express sixth year.

“Here we are,” Slughorn says as we round a corner and stop in front of a wooden door. It swings open and we step inside.

“Well, since you boys are so eager to get in bed, I guess I’d better leave you to it,” says Slughorn. “You can always let Madam Pomfrey or myself know if you need anything.”

I nod absently as my eyes land on the bed. It isn’t very large at all. In fact, it looks alarmingly small and seems to be getting smaller by the second.

“The bathroom is over there,” Slughorn points to a door to the right. “I suppose you’ll need to give each other a hand – literally.” He laughs, and then cuts off awkwardly as he takes in our expressions.

“Thanks for everything, Professor,” Potter says, steering Slughorn back towards the door. “We appreciate it, really.”

Once Slughorn’s gone, I walk over to the bed and sit. I have to, or I might throw up. What was I thinking, going down to the dungeons with Potter stuck to my arm? I bury my face in my hands. Haven’t I learned that Blaise will jump at any opportunity to poke at my wounds, while simultaneously reminding me that if I make one wrong move I’ll learn the true meaning of humiliation?

"Shall I get Pomfrey?" Potter asks, drawing his wand.

“No!”

"Look, I know it's bad, but we'll just have to— “ His voice takes on a soothing tone, as if he’s trying to encourage me. Well, fuck his concern and fuck his encouragement.

"You don't know anything!" I say. “Fuck, Potter, was it really necessary to show me up in front of those— in front of my friends, on top of everything else?"

Pain shoots through my shoulder as Potter moves his arm.

“What was I supposed to do? Slughorn was making a laughing stock of both of us. Nice friends you have, by the way. That'll be ‘round the whole school by morning, how we have to share a bed, and—“

"Yes, and how you couldn't wait to drag me off there, you idiotic half-wit! This is bad enough without you blundering around, making us look ridiculous; you might as well stand up in the Great Hall and shout 'Look at us! And have a good laugh, why don't you?'"

Potter’s hand tightens on his wand and he points it at me. I quickly fumble in my pocket for my own wand. Potter nearly killed me once and left me scarred for life. He’s capable of anything. But by the time I manage to get it out, he’s calmed down.

"Malfoy, look― for god's sake, we can't keep fighting. We've just got to get through this. It's just as bad for both of us.”

"Oh really? I wouldn't be so sure about that.”

"What do you mean?” he asks, but I shake my head. There’s no sense in arguing about who’s got it worse.

"You've only got your left hand. It is tough, I can see that. But it's not for long.” Potter paused. ”Why don't we just... get some sleep? Maybe tomorrow it will have worn off.”

How can someone be so ridiculously optimistic?

"Didn't you listen to anything Slughorn said?” I ask. “The healing agents will continue their action for at least forty-eight hours, maybe longer. So far we've been in this hideous position for approximately ten hours. Do you see the discrepancy?"

That’s when Potter loses it. "OK, what the fuck do you suggest we do? How about jumping out of the window?” He swings his free arm wildly in the direction of the window. “Or we could spend a pleasant hour trying to kill each other with our bare hands! Nothing else is currently springing to mind, Malfoy, but I assume you've got a brilliant plan, right?"

He’s right, I know. It’s just hard to agree with someone who’s such a thoughtless, reckless idiot. ”Of course we'll try to get some sleep. There isn't anything else we can do. It's just that…”

_How do I put this?_

"Just what?"

"Just, try not to be such a complete and utter fuckwit, would you?"

Potter starts to shake. Softly at first, then hard enough to make my arm bounce along with his. I roll my eyes, thinking he’s started crying (Really? He can’t take a bit of constructive criticism?), but then I realise he’s laughing. I turn to look at him, trying to comprehend what could possibly be funny, and he laughs harder.

He’s infuriating! And yet, as he continues to laugh, red-faced and gasping for air, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep a straight face — only because he looks so ridiculous, of course. I don’t understand his amusement. Not at all.

At last he stops laughing and lies back.

“Have you quite finished?”

“Erm… I think so,” he says cheerfully.

“I want to go to sleep.”

That brings him back down to earth in a flash.

After a tedious discussion about what we’re going to sleep in and how we’re going to get our school uniforms off, we finally start getting into our pajamas.

“A nightie! Nice one, Malfoy!”

Potter is delighted at the sight of my nightshirt.

Obviously Gryffindors prefer to sleep in gaudy, faded t-shirts featuring winking mermaids. “What the merry fuck is that?” I ask.

Getting these on with joined arms proves difficult. Potter is right; it would be a lot easier to just sleep topless, but there’s no way I’m letting him see the scars his curse left my chest. I don’t think he even realises. If his reaction is anything to go by, he thinks I’m a prude for not wanting to be seen. Let him think what he wants. I don’t give a damn.

When I’m finally done buttoning my shirt — it’s a slow job, working with my wand in my left hand — I feel Potter’s eyes on me.

He clears his throat. “Nice nightie, Malfoy!”

"Stick it up your arse, Potter. Look at that piece of shit you call clothing. What is that vile picture? Do you and Weasley wank to that crap, or something?”

“You've got a filthy mind for someone wearing a frilly nightie. Why would you want to think about me and Ron wanking?"

There’s that dreadful coiling sensation in my belly again. ”I've told you I want to sleep. For Merlin's sake shut up and let's get this appalling day over with.”

"Yeah, sit down a minute then, and I'll get my shorts on.”

We sit on the bed as I remove my trousers and Potter changes into his boxers. It’s a bit unnerving, being so close to him, our bare legs nearly touching

After we’re dressed, we take the long-dreaded trip to the bathroom. It isn’t quite as bad as I expected. The half-wit is actually thoughtful enough to Muffliato us both.

Back in the bedroom, we stand beside the bed. It appears Potter has decided he hasn’t done enough damage for the day, because he opens his mouth again.

"You know what they said about Theo Nott…"

I knew this was going to come up. I give him a murderous look. “Yes?”

"Erm... I was just wondering."

"We're friends, Potter. Theo's my friend. OK? Some people just have their minds in the gutter.”

"Yes, fine. I mean, it's fine if you're― I mean, I don't care if—" I have to admit it’s amusing hearing him scramble for words as his face reddens. "I just wondered."

"Thank you for clearing that up.”

“So,” Potter says. I shut my eyes, wishing he would shut up already. "Do you need to do anything else?”

"Like _what_ , exactly?”

"I don't know. What do you normally do before you go to sleep?"

I have a nice, slow wank. Surely he’s not suggesting we do _that_. ”Are you trying to be funny?”

"No— I just— are you ready, then?”

It’s all I can do not to strangle him. “Yes.”

 

♥

 

Potter has finally shut up, but I doubt I’m going to be able to fall asleep. I remember our brief stay in the Slytherin common room and Blaise’s cruelty. Then I start to think about the day ahead, of walking around attached to Potter, an object of ridicule, and my chest tightens. Fuck, I can’t breath. This happens sometimes — a symptom of stress, I imagine. It started sixth year. I can’t breathe deep enough to quench my need for air. I feel like a fish out of water.

Potter isn’t asleep, either. I can tell by the tension in his arm and his own shallow breathing. _Please, don’t ask me what’s wrong. Don’t talk. I can’t stand another minute of it._

I go still as he shifts his weight, and suddenly his hand is on my shoulder. He pats me lightly before drawing his hand back. A soothing gesture, not entirely welcome and entirely unexpected. It makes me realise how long it’s been since anyone touched me with affection. Mother, after the battle. Before that… well, I’d rather not think about it.

My eyes well up with tears and I swallow, using every last bit of effort not to sob. I can’t break down. Not now. Not with him here.

 

♥

 

“Mmmm.”

I don’t think I’ve ever woken up to a more delightful sensation. A warm hand on my back. A soft mouth against my ear. Deep, steady breaths stirring my hair.

It’s about the same time I realise my cock is half-hard that I remember I’m in bed with Potter. He must be dreaming about the Weaslette.

To my dismay, my initial reaction is not to push him away and reach for my wand, but to lie still and enjoy the moment. It’s all good until Potter opens his mouth, his hot breath tickling my ear, and touches his tongue to my neck, sending a jolt of pleasure to my dick.

OK – enough’s enough.

“Potter!”

Potter responds by rubbing against my hip, and I realise he’s hard. It shouldn’t make my insides flutter, but it does.

"Potter. Get the _fuck_ off me."

He wakes up with a start and apologises, moving as far away from me as possible. I try to ignore the pang in my chest.

"How dare you touch me?" I fumble for my wand.

Potter sputters explanations as I finally grab hold of the wand and point it at him. "Touch me again and it won't be my arm I cut off, Potter. Is that clear?"

"Merlin, yes. It won't happen again, Malfoy. Now get a grip.”

And so begins our morning. It would have been nice to catch a few more hours of sleep, blissfully unaware of my unfortunate circumstances, but Potter had to ruin it. Now I can’t stand being in this bed with him for another minute.

We get up, with much complaining and impatience on my part, and get our uniforms on. With my right arm as useless as Potter’s spell work, the repair job looks pathetic. But at least we’re clothed.

We make another visit to the bathroom; it consists mostly of Potter watching me do my hair, having proclaimed it useless to do anything to tame his own. At one point our eyes meet in the mirror, and I swear his tongue peeks out to moisten his lips. He quickly looks away, and I try put it out of my mind.

We go down to the kitchens, where we meet Professor McGonagall. She mends our uniforms, and we follow her into her office for tea and bacon sandwiches.

McGonagall inspects our arms and teaches us a few charms we might find useful, including a version of the Banishing Charm that will allow us to remove our clothes without cutting them. It’s an awkward meeting, but useful, and I have several cups of tea to help me through it. Hopefully that won’t result in more trips to the toilets with Potter than necessary.

 

♥

 

"We'll sit with the Gryffindors again, today, right?" Potter asks. "I mean, it's my turn. We went to your common room last night."

My initial instinct is to argue, but I remember the results of our trip to dungeons, and feign nonchalance. "All right then, if it's so very important to you. It makes no difference to me."

We stop in a corridor near the Great Hall, where Granger greets Potter with a hug. Then she and I engage in comically civil small talk, until Potter declares that he must eat _now_ and pulls me through the double doors and towards the Gryffindor table.

"Missed you last night, mate,” Weasley says, taking a seat across from Potter. “We were up playing Dragon's Breath till late, and they beat the crap out of me and Neville without you there."

Granger turns to Potter. “How was _your_ evening, Harry?"

I can’t help but think about last night – and this morning – from Potter’s perspective. I noticed him looking at me a number of times. What had he been thinking? And had he really not known it was me he was rubbing up against this morning? These questions lead to another question, one that I’ve been avoiding asking myself all this time: Does Potter want me?

My thoughts are interrupted by Granger instructing Weasley to put eggs on my plate. He obeys, but not without shooting us all a cold glare. Almost as soon as I start eating, owls begin swooping into the Great Hall. Among them is Athena, my mother’s owl, who drops a letter and a parcel in front of me.

"Would you like help opening those?" Granger nods at my post.

"No! No, thank you." I slip the letter and parcel into my pocket before anyone decides to inquire further.

"Hey, Harry, got a joke for you,” Seamus Finnegan calls from further down the table, his Irish accent cutting through the laughter and ruckus on that end. “What do you call a man with one head, two legs and two arseholes?"

I suddenly feel queasy.

Potter doesn't respond. I get the feeling that he, too, knows where this is going.

"Harry Potter, with Draco Malfoy stuck to him!"

I put my fork down. There goes my appetite.

"Get it?" Finnegan smirks. " _Two arseholes_."

Granger and Longbottom mutter their disapproval, but most others laugh. Potter’s tension is palpable. I remember all the times I’ve mocked him in the past, and wonder if he felt like I do.

"Ah, come on," Seamus says. "It's only a joke. And Malfoy's got Dean into a ton of trouble, all because his poncy ring melted."

McGonagall stands up at the faculty table. "Could the Gryffindor table be so kind as to settle down, in order to allow the rest of us eat our breakfast peacefully? Otherwise, I think it will be a matter requiring the deduction of House Points."

That settles things down a bit.

For the next few minutes I sit and ponder my future in a world that won’t give me a moment’s peace, let alone a second chance, while Potter finishes eating. Then we leave to meet Granger in the library.

 

♥

 

Potter and Granger are writing notes back and forth. I use the opportunity to read Mother’s letter, which I open surreptitiously while pretending to study.

 

_Dear Draco,_

_Thank you for taking the time to write to me each week. Your letters are all I have to look forward to. In answer to your question, no I haven’t been able to visit your father this month, as I have taken rather ill, but I don't want you to worry yourself._

_I’m sorry to hear that Miss Parkinson has left Hogwarts. She’s always been a good friend to you, and I hope you’ll keep in touch. But please, son, don’t be tempted to follow in her footsteps. I know that people can be cruel, but you must remain strong._

_We are always so proud of you, my darling; work hard and one day the Malfoy name will be restored._

_Love,  
Your Mother_

 

 

I start crying again, and before I can stop it a single tear falls onto page 224 of Potter’s Herbology book. He looks up at the ceiling for the source of the droplet. The perplexed look on his face almost makes me laugh.

I fold the letter and put it back into my robes.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?" Potter asks, surprising me. "Let's go out... somewhere. I can't face sitting here all morning, and then lessons this afternoon."

"But, they'll notice we're gone. We'll... "

"... get into trouble? I don't really give a shit. Do you?"

I touch the letter in my pocket. Potter’s offer is tempting, but I wouldn’t want to do anything to disappoint Mother. She’s having a rough time as it is.

"Come _on_ , Malfoy. You can say I made you do it. I _will_ make you, if you want. Come on. Pretend I've got you at wandpoint."

I can’t help but return his smile.

"I'm being corrupted by Harry Potter. Someone had better tell the Prophet."

On our way out of the library, we run into Professor Slughorn.

"I was just coming to find you two. Not finishing work already, eh?" he asks suspiciously. "It's only a little after ten-thirty."

"Not at all, sir,” I say. “We're just going over to the greenhouses to check on our Herbology projects. Then we'll be right back at it."

"Good, good. So, everything's fine, I take it? No problems at all?"

"No problems."

"Well, I'll see you later. Potions again, this afternoon, isn't it?"

"Ah, yes, Professor. About that –“ I press myself against Potter a little to let him know I can deal with this. “Now you mention it, Potter and I... we're both feeling some after-effects of the accident. A sort of delayed shock, I think. I feel it might be best if we avoided the scene where it all happened, for a day or two. Just till we get over it, you understand."

Slughorn’s forehead creases. "Ah. Oh dear. Hadn't you better go and have a chat with Madam Pomfrey about this?"

"No, no, it's nothing worth bothering her about. We just wondered if we'd be better off doing some reading, in the library, instead. We wouldn't be able to do any practical work, like this, anyway." I lift our arm to illustrate.

Slughorn hesitates. "Hmm. I don't know... perhaps I'd better check with the Headmistress."

"Oh don't disturb her, sir,” I say. “We'll be quite all right."

Slughorn nods at last. "Very well, then. You can be looking at Ageing Potions, that's what we're mostly working on this week. Any questions, just find me after dinner."

He gives us one last uncertain glance and saunters off.

"Good one, Malfoy! We should do this more often." Potter looks impressed, and I find I rather like it.

I wave it off as nothing. "Slughorn's piss-easy to fool. He doesn't care what you do, as long as it doesn't mean any extra work for him."

Our next stop is the kitchens. Potter gets the house-elves to fill a picnic hamper for us, and soon we’re ready to leave the castle. Out in the corridor, Potter drags me into an alcove covered by a tapestry and pulls a cloak out of his bag. Our bodies disappear as he wraps it around us.

"What the- you've brought your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Well, you know... " Potter smiles coyly. ”No point having these things if you don't use them."

A gleeful laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Fuck me, I'm bunking off lessons to go out with the Saviour in his Invisibility Cloak. You'll be telling me next that magic is real."

Well, that feels awkward. I’m not used to sharing my feelings so openly. Thankfully Potter doesn’t make anything of it, and we make our way stealthily towards the exit.

Once we’re a safe distance from the castle, separated by a line of fir trees, Potter removes the cloak and puts it back into his bag. We walk a little farther, stopping at a giant oak tree. I put the heavy hamper down, and we unpack it together after removing our robes and loosening our ties.

We’ve got plates, but Potter can’t be bothered to use one. He takes a slice of meat pie in his hands and takes a generous bite.

I wrinkle my nose at him. "You really are a barbarian."

“I told you I was starving,” he says.

"I don't know how you eat so much without ending up the size of Bulstrode."

"Quidditch," He says smugly, raising his free arm. "I'm all muscle."

His shirt reveals the curve of his bicep rather nicely. I turn my attention to the hamper, getting myself a plate and a slice of the pie. Next, Potter helps himself to some potato salad. We eat in silence.

I’m glad Potter talked me into this. I feel so free.

I can feel his eyes on my neck as I eat one of the two crisp green apples from the hamper. My heart beats a little quicker, and I wonder if he can see my pulse speed up.

"This is better than Transfiguration and Potions,” I say in an effort to distract him.

Potter nods as I throw the core of my apple into some nearby bushes. Then I reach into my pocket. “If this is what I think it is…” I undo the wrappings on the parcel and smile at the site of the small wooden box. I open the lid and hold the box out to Potter. “Here you go.”

"Chocolates? Really?" He sounds surprised.

"Of course, go ahead."

Potter takes one of the truffles and puts it in his mouth.

I take one too, but its taste is lost on me as his eyes flutter closed and he _groans_.

"Merlin, Malfoy, those are _good_!"

"Better than Honeydukes', eh?"

"A hundred times!"

I hold out the box again. "Another?"

Potter’s eyes light up, but he hesitates. "Are you sure? You've only got a few."

"There are more where those came from. And a little goes a long way, with these."

"What are they called?” Potter asks. “I've never tasted anything like them.”

"They're by Chrysanthius Lefèvre. Made from the finest ingredients, individually hand-rolled on the thighs of Pureblood virgins—" Potter’s eyes become like saucers. "I'm joking, Potter! You should see your face!"

He pops another chocolate in his mouth, and his features immediately soften into that delightful expression. He moans softly. My eyes travel down to the hollow of his throat and below that, to where the first two buttons of his shirt are undone. I lick my lips.

To my horror, I realise I’m checking Harry Potter out. What’s come over me? Potter isn’t my type. I like dark hair, bright eyes, and hard muscles under Quidditch uniforms, and Potter…

Potter’s all of that.

"Wow," Potter says. "So who loves you enough to send you those, Malfoy?"

“My mother.” I remember the letter, and the moment is ruined.

 

♥

 

We decide to take a walk around the lake before returning to the castle. A warm, spring breeze blows the fragrance of lilacs across our faces.

“Lilacs,” I say, when Potter inquires about the scent. "It's charmed to flower all year round. And the bees adore it, when it's warm like this. It's absolutely alive with them at the moment."

 _Bees, Draco?_ I think. _Seriously?_

Potter doesn’t seem to think it odd that I’m so in tune with nature, though. Instead, he asks, “Do you walk out here a lot?"

"A fair bit." I shrug. "It's peaceful by the lake."

"And... you visit his tomb?"

I nod, and Potter stops walking. “Why?”

A bumblebee buzzes by, blissfully unaware of the awkward turn our conversation has taken. I wish I were so lucky.

"I... have things to say."

"You talk to him?" Potter furrows his brow.

“Yes.”

I must have wrongly assumed that I was allowed to talk to a dead man without consulting Potter first.

“What about?"

"Surely you can see, Potter, that one of the advantages of talking to the dead is that the topics of discussion remain private."

Potter seems to be thinking it over. "I suppose so. OK."

It sounds an awful lot like he’s giving me permission, and I tell him so.

"Well. Maybe I am.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I don't like the thought of people coming out here... bothering him."

"Oh. I'm not good enough to speak to your beloved Headmaster, even?"

Why does every conversation between us have to take a sour turn? I’d just gotten over the argument about my parents, which had wrapped up our picnic, and now…

"No." Potter runs a hand through his messy hair. He has a habit of doing that when he’s uncomfortable. "It's not that. Of course you can come and talk to him. I was just... surprised, that's all."

I huff and leave it at that, and we return to the castle in silence.

 

♥

 

Shortly upon our return to the castle, things come to a head with Weasley. The moment we stepped through the door, we were bombarded with questions and scolded for not telling anyone where we’d gone. It was Granger who had raised the alarm, though she had since apologised and looked genuinely sorry for causing the unnecessary commotion.

Weasley, however, cannot accept Potter’s decision to take a day off.

"Yeah, I can imagine that,” he says. “Nightmare. I guessed you'd just buggered off for some peace. But... why would you rather be with him, than with us? That's what I don't understand."

Potter looks conflicted, but thankfully Granger comes to his aid. "You've been no help! I'm not surprised Harry needed to get away, everybody sniggering at him and finding it so hilarious all the time."

"I never! I haven't been laughing at Harry!" Weasley yells, hands balled into fists at his sides.

"It's the same thing, you absolute clot!" Granger gestures at us. "They're both in the same position... you can't make fun of one of them without making the other feel stupid, too. Not to mention, we're meant to be supporting each other, this year. How can we put the war behind us, if we're just carrying on the same petty feuds?"

"Petty?" Weasley spits. "That bastard's lot killed my brother! And he nearly fucking killed me! There's nothing petty about that."

I’ve been dreading this moment. Partly because there’s truth to Weasley’s accusation, and partly because, in the end, Weasley the one most likely to influence Potter’s thoughts about me. So far, Potter’s been decent – unexpectedly so. But if he remembers all the reasons he has to hate me, well, the next day or two have the potential to turn into a nightmare.

Granger shakes her head. “Do you think it helps anyone to behave like this? We're all quite aware what happened—"

"Shall we go?” I whisper in Potter’s ear. “Or will that just make it worse?"

Thankfully, Potter seems to agree that it’s best to leave, and so we climb out of the portrait hole in the Gryffindor Tower and find a windowsill that offers a view of the Quidditch pitch – the best alternative to going flying.

"I did nearly kill him,” I say, after we’ve spent a few minutes looking out the window in silence.

"Yeah, well. I nearly killed you."

Also true. And also partially my fault.

I wince at the memory. "I am sorry. For all of it. I mean– I wish– "

Harry swallowed. "Yeah. OK."

 

♥

 

We decide to have dinner in our room. This time, however, we let Granger know where we’ll be. Once Potter’s appetite is sated, I teach him a dice game we Slytherins like to play that he isn’t familiar with. He turns out to be pretty good, though I win both rounds.

Afterwards, we agree to read in bed. I retrieve my copy of Franz Kafka’s _Metamorphosis_ , while Potter digs out a _Quidditch Today_.

The window’s open, letting in a mild breeze, and the fire’s crackling in the hearth. _This has all the makings of a relaxing evening_ , I think. _If only we’d figured out yesterday how (relatively) easy it could be…_

OK, maybe not so easy for Potter. He keeps looking over at me and shifting uncomfortable. If I’m not mistaken, he’s becoming aroused.

This should be fun.

"What's the book about?"

I laugh, both at Potter’s attempt at distraction and at the way a synopsis of the book might sound to someone who hasn’t read it. "It's about a man who wakes up one morning and finds himself transformed into a giant beetle."

"Was he cursed?"

"No, he's a Muggle. It's by a Muggle writer, in fact."

"So how does he turn into a beetle?"

I shrug. "It doesn't say. It's a metaphor – for alienation, disgust with oneself, you know." I look Potter. "No, you probably don't know."

Potter looks troubled. "Why are you reading Muggle books, anyway?"

"Because I like them.”

I meet Potter’s gaze, daring him to say more, but he returns his attention to the magazine, and so I pick up the book again… and quickly realize that no more reading is going to happen tonight. Potter’s still fidgeting, obviously struggling with an unyielding erection.

My lips curve of their own accord. This might be the perfect opportunity for me to see if I’ve correctly interpreted Potter’s behaviour this past day-and-a-half.

I stretch my arm out leisurely above my head and yawn. And, as expected, Potter shifts and reaches down to adjust himself under his magazine.

 

♥

 

It’s well into the night, I still haven’t fallen asleep. To pass away the time, I take out the letter I received from Mother this morning and read it again.

I hope she’s all right. She has a tendency to downplay everything, to keep me from worrying. What she doesn’t realise is that I then end up worrying even more, because I don’t know if what she’s saying is the truth. What I do know is that she must be quite ill to not have visited Father in Azkaban.

I don’t think Father will last long in prison. I remember how frail he was when he escaped last time. He’d never even been able to recover fully, what with Voldemort constantly breathing down his neck, and then the trial…

The tears well up again. I wish there was something I could do for my parents, but I know there isn’t. They’ve made bad choices and now we must all face the consequences. The best I can do is to make them proud. But what if I’m too weak?

Potter stirs. I try to hold back the sobs, but they just keep coming. He touches my hair gently. “Shhhh… it’s OK.”

Potter moves closer and keeps stroking my hair.

“Sorry,” I say, ashamed, and bring up my hand to wipe my face.

He puts his arm around me and pulls me closer still, repeating, “It’s OK.”

I want to melt into him. I press my face into his neck and inhale his scent; it’s so warm and inviting.

Potter pulls back a little. "What is it? Is it your mother?"

"Oh god, don't talk about it," I say. “Just keep doing that.”

We lie pressed together, our joined arms trapped beneath us and – mine, at least – aching at the shoulder. My sobs have barely subsided before my body starts reacting to Potter’s proximity.

“It’s all right,” Potter repeats.

I take it as an invitation, even though I know it wasn’t meant that way. I open my mouth against the hollow of his throat and start kissing him, moving up towards his ear.

For a moment Potter stops breathing, then he asks, “What are you doing?”

"Do you want me to stop?”

"No,” he says.

I bury my free hand in his hair and continue, licking, sucking, and nibbling at the skin of his neck.

"Is this what you want?” Potter asks. “You're upset—"

"Fuck being upset," I say, because every nerve in my body is coming alive with his touch, with his heat and his breath.

"But, last night...?"

"God, you don't understand anything, do you? Do you want me, Potter?" I meet his gaze in the darkness. "I've seen you looking at me.”

"I do. I…yes.”

I slide my hand up his thigh and cup his erection through his boxers. “You want me.”

“Yes,” he breathes.

"Say it." I reach into his boxers, finding him hot and sticky and delightful.

He groans as I slowly rub the underside of his cock. “I want you.”

I wrap my fingers around his shaft and watch his face as I begin to stroke him. His eyes are closed and his lips are parted, his breath shaky and uneven.

"That feels... so good." Potter says, and there is genuine wonder in his voice. My suspicions are confirmed: he’s never been touched before. His eyes flutter open to meet my gaze. "You're incredible."

"This is just with my left hand, Potter," I whisper, making sure my breath ghosts over his ear. “Imagine what I could do with two hands."

He moans and buries his face in my neck. A few more deft strokes and he tenses, his entire body going rigid. He cries out, and warmth spills over my fingers. It takes a moment before he’s able to breathe again.

When Potter comes to he reaches down and touches himself, almost in a panic.

I laugh. "What are you doing? I didn't hex anything off, if that's what you're worried about."

He runs his hand down the length of my arm, slowly, almost reverently. "Can I touch you?"

"I wish you would."

He reaches down to find my cock, and gasps. I guess he wasn’t expecting me not to be wearing any underwear. The pads of his fingers feel rough and calloused; it sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through me.

He hesitates. "I don't know what to do."

I thrust forward a little, so that my cock slides against his fingers. "Yes you do, Potter. You know exactly what to do."

He takes his lower lip in between his teeth and starts to run his fingers along the length of my cock. A soft moan escapes my lips, and it seems to encourage him. As he begins to stroke me, I feel the tension of the past two days – of the past two years – begin to melt away.

I clutch his shoulder with my free hand. It’s broad and strong, and makes me want to feel every inch of him against me.

“Yes,” I gasp, as he spreads the moisture that had collected at the tip of my cock and then continues stroking. “Yes, yes, yes, just like that. Don’t you dare stop.”

He does stop, but only to cup my balls and fuck does that feel good!

"The things I'd do to you,” I say in his ear, “if we weren't stuck like this."

He takes my hand, the one on our joined arms, and squeezes it as he strokes me faster. I thrust into his fist, not entirely in control of my own body anymore. I'm coming, releasing a strangled cry into the crook of his neck and drinking in his scent as I gasp for air.

My eyes close as I begin to drift off to sleep. I barely register Potter cleaning us both up.

"Malfoy... I really liked that."

"Mmm. Good."

"Can we do it again?"

I frown. "What, now? 'M tired."

There's a pause. "Well, now would have been good, but in the morning, then?"

I smirk. It seems I've done my part well. "Yes. Perhaps. Now let me sleep." I roll onto my back, for added effect.

"OK." Potter wraps the blankets around us both again. "Malfoy?"

"What? Potter, you are a menace. A talkative, greedy menace."

"Good night, Malfoy."

I turn my head to face him. "That was it? Good night?"

"Yes."

"Good night, Potter. Please remember: any snoring, and it's a pillow on the face."

 

♥

 

I wake up to something tickling my cheekbone.

"Wha– Potter? Get off me!” I push his hand away.

" _You_ were snoring."

"Me? Rubbish. I never snore.You probably woke yourself up, snorting and grunting like the caveman you are." I rub my eyes and blink them open, squinting against the pink light streaming in through the window. "What time is it?"

"Early."

" _How_ early?"

"Not _too_ early, for this," Potter says suggestively. He tangles his legs with mine and runs his hand down my back, then squeezes my arse.

"Oh, Potter,” I say, feigning disappointment. "What a filthy young Saviour you are."

He laughs and pokes his erection into my hip, and my own cock stirs in response.

 

♥

 

Something feels very odd when I wake up for the second time. I can’t quite figure out what it is. I know I’ve come in Potter’s hand twice since we retired last night, but that’s not it. No, this is something much more basic.

I groan, and throw my right arm over my eyes to block out the bright sunlight.

My _right_ arm. I open my eyes and hold my arm in front of them, turning it this way and that. It looks completely normal.

_Yes!_

I sit up and shake Potter by the shoulders. "Potter! Potter, wake up!"

He wrinkles his forehead and looks at me.

"The fucking thing has worn off!" I say.

He sits up, and we both stare at our arms in disbelief.

"Merlin! It's actually worn off!" Potter exclaims.

I spring up from the bed and run to the far end of the room. "I can walk over here! Ha! And I don't have to fucking bring you with me!"  
Potter starts bouncing on the bed. "They were right! It just wore off."

"God that feels good!” I shout, running around the room with my arms wide raised in victory. “Freedom."

Potter examines his arm again. “It looks just the same as before.”

I return to the bed and hold mine up next to his. "Mine too."

Harry grabs me and hugs me. "I can do this now."

I push him off, concerned about how I might smell after so long without a proper shower. Cleansing charms can only go so far. "Sloppy git. I can have a shower!"

"I can come with you." Potter raises his eyebrows hopefully. I hate to see him so insecure, but I can’t seem too eager.

"Whatever. Come on!"

We run into the bathroom and throw off our clothes. Well, Potter does. I hesitate when I remember the scars on my chest. He hasn’t seen them yet.

Before I can worry too much about it, Potter stands naked before me in all his glory, unaware that I’m staring.

I laugh. I can’t say it’s completely unexpected, but his Quidditch-toned physique is a sight to behold. "Merlin's hairy bollocks, Potter."

"What?"

I step closer and place my hand on his chest, needing to feel his muscles. His heart beats rhythmically under my palm. I move my hand lower, down his abs and around to his bum. "The way you dress... and all the time this is hiding underneath."

He smiles, blushing, and fiddles with a button on my shirt. "I want to see you."

I ignore the fluttering in my stomach as I let him undo the buttons and slip the shirt off my shoulders. It falls to the floor. Potter rakes his eyes over my chest and, predictably, winces.

"I know how I look," I tell him. "No need to say anything."

To his credit, he doesn’t start to apologise or make a big deal out of it. "I've got scars, too," he says. "I think all of us have, who were in the war." He shows me burnt shape of one of the Horcruxes on his chest, the gash on his forearm where Pettigrew had cut him, and faint white scars forming the words _I must not tell lies_ on the back of his hand.

"I thought he healed you," Potter says, finally. "I didn't know."

"Not even magic can heal everything." I hold out my arm and break the Glamour spell concealing the Dark Mark. "This won't go away, either, though it does seem to fade."

Potter steps closer. He looks me up and down again with intensifying hunger. "You know when you said the things you would do to me... if we weren't stuck?"

I nod.

He reaches out and touches my cheek, before moving his hand down to trace the line of his jaw. His green eyes are raw and penetrating. "Show me, Draco... I need you to show me."

I hesitate for a moment, needing to quell the sudden surge of anger. I remind myself that this is Potter. He wouldn’t use this against me, even if his feelings are fickle and he no longer wants me next week.

I turn around and set the shower running, then push Potter in, backwards, and up against the wall. With my hands on either side of his head, I lean in. I take his lower lip in between my teeth and give it a little tug. His sharp intake of breath is so thrilling. The famous and hailed Harry Potter, naked and vulnerable between my arms. I take command of the kiss, licking and nibbling until he is breathless. Then I sink to my knees and take him in my mouth.

“M – Draco,” he gasps, and I look up at him, smirking around his cock. “Oh, God.”

The hot water pounds down on our reddened skin as I suck him off, steam filling the space around us. I roll his balls around in one hand, swirling my tongue around his cock as my mouth moves up and down the shaft, until Potter starts muttering incoherently and, finally, bites down on his knuckles as comes down my throat.

He lets his head fall back against the wall and stays still, but for his heaving torso, as I stand up and lay soft kisses on his chest. “You’ve been with him haven’t you?” he says, panting. “With Zabini? That’s where you learned all of this.”

“Really, Potter?” I hiss. “That’s what you were thinking about while I was sucking you off?”

“No! I just – “ He reaches for my waist. “I want to know so I can kill him."

“Wouldn’t you rather stay here with me?” I take his hand and guide it my cock. “I have a job that needs doing.”

He smiles, and turns us around so that I’m up against the wall. Then he sinks to his knees.

 

♥

 

We go down to the Great Hall separately. Potter’s already seated at the Gryffindor table, when I enter and take my usual spot besides Theo.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, remembering that he’d been unwell.

“Fine,” he says. “And you? I see you’re all fixed up.” He nods at my arm.

I raise it up at the elbow to look at it. “Yeah. Feels weird to have use of both hands again.”

Theo spreads butter over a piece of toast. “So, what was it like – ” he looks up at me with raised brows. “Being one with our Saviour.”

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, and look away. “It was a nightmare at first.” I pour myself some water from the pitcher. “But we learned to manage.”

Theo nods, but I get the distinct sense that he knows there’s more to the story. We drop the conversation for now, though. All in good time.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Blaise watching me intently.

 

♥

 

"Oh, look!” Blaise exclaims as soon as Harry and I enter the Slytherin common room a couple weeks later. “It's dear Draco... and Potter _again_!"

“Blaise,” I say dispassionately.

"Well, well, and to what on earth do we owe the honour this time?” he asks, looking Harry up and down. “You do know where you are, don't you, Potter? You didn't take a wrong turning and end up down here with us snakes by accident?"

"You know we're allowed visitors from any house, this year,” I say, spotting Theo at one of the tables and raising a hand in greeting.

Blaise laughs. "Indeed, we are _allowed_! But nobody ever _comes_ here. Far too risky to associate with any of us." His remain glued to Harry. "Is Draco going to give you the full tour, then, Potter? I remember you could hardly wait to leave, last time."

I hide a smirk as Potter walks around to the back of the sofa where Blaise is sitting and rests his hands on it. "I'm hoping he will, yes,” he says, leaning in to speak in Blaise’s ear. “I'm very interested in him showing me... everything."

Blaise looks around to see if everyone is hearing the conversation, but I don’t miss the way a muscle in his jaw twitches. "Are you, now?” He gives me a piercing look. “How delightful for Draco."

Harry smiles. "Well, in fact, it's quite a pleasure for me, actually."

I step up beside him and speak in his ear. “Shall we?”

Harry nods. "I've always wanted to see if the Slytherin dorms are more comfortable than the Gryffindors'," he says loudly.

"This way, then.” I guide him by putting my hand on the small of his back. “Everyone's busy in here, so we'll have the place to ourselves, Potter. You can take your time and have a good look at _everything_."

♥

 

“Did you see Zabini’s face as we left the common room?” Harry laughs as we lie back on my bed.

“Yeah, it was priceless. I thought his eyes might pop out of their sockets.”

Harry turns his head to look at me. “I think he still wants you.”

I snort. “What he wanted more was to conquer me, in every way, so he could have my spot on the sofa back there. He can have it. I don’t need that kind of empty power, and I most certainly don’t need him.” I feel a bit queasy, though. “Do you think he’s going to say anything to the others? I mean, about him and me?”

“I doubt it,” Potter says, reaching out to loosen my tie. “It’s kind of late for that, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

Harry leans in and starts kissing my neck. I roll my eyes. “You have a voracious appetite all around.”

“You love it, don’t lie,” Potter says placing a kiss on my forehead and lying back down beside me.

“Yes,” I admit. “And as hard as it may be to believe, I also enjoy your company.”

Harry’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Would you be willing to enjoy my company in the Gryffindor Tower tomorrow?”

“I’d be willing to enjoy your company anywhere.” I can feel my cheeks burn, but Harry’s smile is worth it.

“Same here,” Potter says, then he sits up and offers me his hand. “Wanna go for a nighttime fly?”

“Yes!” I let him pull me up. “But first, mess up your hair a little more. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I’d let you leave my bed not looking like a complete mess, now would I?”

“That would be tragic.” Potter scratches his head with both hands. “Better?”

“Better.”

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave your comment for the author here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-remix.livejournal.com/65909.html). ♥


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